


Pick Your Poison

by Nehanshika_524



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Drug Abuse, M/M, Suicide, demon!Jonathan, human!Sock, if you are just skip the first chapter!!, just a warning. sorry if you are triggered by that kind of thing., post-suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:09:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehanshika_524/pseuds/Nehanshika_524
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An apathetic demon tries to haunt his very friendly and mildly homicidal human counterpart.<br/><strong>[SEMI-HIATUS: that means i still update this!!! just. not very often. stay tuned!]</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an overused idea and I give zero shits.  
> NOTE: If you are triggered by descriptions of suicide and/or depression, skip this chapter. It's not very necessary to the plot; more of a prologue. You can understand the story without it, but if you are capable of reading it, then please do so!

It started with the drawings.

Jonathan spent a lot of time on the internet, drawing and writing and, if he needed the money, commissioning works. He liked it; liked posting little drawings here and there, liked maybe writing the occasional story, liked the warm feeling in his chest when someone gave even the smallest of compliments.

He got hate too, of course, but that didn’t matter much. Maybe one anonymous comment per month; everyone got some dished out to them eventually, anyway, so he didn’t really mind.

-

Then it got worse.

Death threats, warnings, slurs and baseless accusations aplenty. Still, Jonathan brushed them off with joking responses (usually the entire Bee Movie script). He had a sneaking suspicion that the anons were all the same person, and that made it easier to ignore them.

“Your proportions are all messed up. You should learn to draw better.”

“I didn’t like the ending to that last story. It was weak and boring.”

“You are a fucking moron.”

“I’m gonna find you and I’m gonna kill you, dickwad.”

He sent off scripts and quotes from My Immortal, kept drawing, kept writing.

-

Then the suicide anons then began to crop up.

 “Why aren’t you dead yet??”

“Ugh, kill yourself please. Preferably with a knife”

“Can you hurry up and die please? I’m sick of seeing you on my dash, fag.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and deleted the messages. He wouldn’t entertain them with responses anymore.

-

They got worse, and worse, more and more personal. They kept coming, one after the other, blocking out any other type of message. He shut down his commissions, deactivated his writing blog and barely drew a thing anymore. Maybe they would stop, then. Maybe it’d be over for good.

-

It never stopped. They kept coming. Jonathan stopped drawing entirely, and barely went online unless he had to study. He stopped talking, to the point where he forgot what his own voice sounded like. Barely showing up to meals and wearing nothing but grey, Jonathan felt more like a ghost, or a distant memory- just a bare shell of his former self. Something disconnected him from the real world; he could touch and move through it like a normal person, but he never felt like he was really there.

-

Then it became too much. The messages haunted his head every second of every day, compliments and kind words forgotten entirely.

Hell, even music didn’t help anymore! He through his headphones down in anger, and they broke on the hardwood floor of his bedroom. Nothing helped! Nothing stopped the awful ringing in his ears, nothing could bring that constant voice to silence, nothing could erase the words from memory. Talking to anyone made it worse. Eating made him feel disgusting. He just wanted to sleep, sleep for as long as he could.

A thought struck him. Normal, sane Jonathan would have dismissed it almost immediately. But he wasn’t sane. He wasn’t well. His head was sick, and there was no cure. No cure at all. Nothing, nothing to do but sleep forever.

He was home alone. His mother wouldn’t be home for six, maybe seven hours. That was enough time. More than enough time. Walking down the stairs, feeling oddly focused, he walked downstairs to the bathroom. There was more than enough to kill himself with here.

He took three boxes of pills, all different medication, all deadly and toxic. There were three bottles of cough syrup; one was half-empty, and the other two were almost full.

He briefly considered leaving a note on his way back up the stairs. But he doubted it would matter- dying would be enough. Barely.

He took four pills, swallowing them with way too much syrup. He coughed and spluttered for a bit, but forced them down. Nothing so far.

Four more. He started feeling dizzy.

Eight more. His head pounded angrily, and his vision doubled slightly.

Twelve. Sixteen. The entire twenty-four. The entire three boxes of pills. Thirty-six pills, and three bottles of the sticky, sickly sweet syrup.

Pain shot through his body.

There were three sinks in front of him, spinning wildly. The white tiled floor looked a poisonous green, and the walls were closing in on him. Head screaming at him, vision swimming and shaking, stomach on fire, throat aching, Jonathan laughed for the first time in months.

He was dead before he hit the floor, blood seeping from his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants to bet on how long it'll take me to abandon this story? I reckon around the third chapter. Who's got ten bucks?  
> By the way: please don't jump down my ass about making Jonathan suicidal. Truthfully, this started as a bit of a vent for my own thoughts, and then just grew into a fanfiction, because I'm in Sockathan Hell and I will never escape.  
> Leave a kudos if you like this so far!!


	2. Chapter 2

He was falling. Falling through a twisting, strange tunnel of red and black. Words and strange signs were everywhere, saying things like “To Heaven” and “To Hellhound Den”. The most daunting one, however, was the one pointing straight down, where he was headed. “To Hell”.

There was nothing but darkness below, and it took all of his willpower to stay calm and not scream like a little kid. How long had he been falling for? How long until he hit the bottom?

THUD. Not very long, it seemed. He’d landed on pure darkness, unable to see exactly what was supporting him. There was nothing but black all around. Something a lot like panic rose in his chest, though his heart didn’t pound and his lungs didn’t heave. What was happening?

 “Welcome to Hell!” A face loomed over Jonathan, and he screamed.

“Would you like a hand? Jeez, kid, it’s only me.”

‘Only me’ appeared to be a man, with glowing yellow eyes and anti-gravitational red hair. By red, it looked more like the exact colour of an angry flame. There was something about the guy that was unnerving; he didn’t seem entirely human. But he was being nice enough, and Jonathan tentatively reached for his hand. “Uh… Alright.”

The man helped him up and led him into a white, business-like room. “This is my office. Have a seat.” An enormous filing cabinet loomed above, so high it was impossible to see where it ended. He gaped, wondering how on Earth he’d missed it on his way down. Then again, he supposed that he wasn’t really on Earth.

“Aren’t you gonna sit? I haven’t booby-trapped the thing, you know.”

Jonathan forced himself to look away from the massive cabinet, and sat down in a chair beside the white desk. The person, whom he was strongly suspecting was Satan himself, sat opposite. “Do you know why you’re here, Mr, uh… Combs?”

 “Jonathan’s fine.” He shrugged. “Not really. Hey, Mr. um, Devil, if this is really Hell- where’s all the torture devices and fire and screaming? I thought people are supposed to suffer for the rest of eternity here, or something.”

He looked shocked. “Jesus Christ, what do they tell you people up there?! And my name is Mephistopheles. Look, this isn’t Hell, I told you. It’s just my office.”

He walked over to a door- how long had that been there? - and opened the shutters on its small window. Jonathan cautiously came up to it, and peered through.

“ _This_ is Hell. And it’s a wreck,” Mephistopheles said despairingly. It was a garish green, filled with people in hardhats and poisonous-looking flames far below. “Look at this place! The gluttons and the lawyers are in the middle of what looks like a turf war, the murderers have been hangin’ out with the network executives; that simply can’t be a good influence on them…”

“…The murderers, or the, um, network execs?”

“ _Either!_ ”

Jonathan decided to change the subject. “Uh, so… so what’s going to happen to me?”

Mephistopheles brightened instantly, and threw an arm around his shoulder. He walked towards the white desk, gesturing for Jonathan to sit down.

“I’m making you an offer. And no,” he said as Jonathan opened his mouth, “I don’t mean some deal-with-the-devil nonsense. It’s a job offer. Anyway, I get that you and I are very different people-“

“Well, you are the de-“

“ _Mephistopheles_ , if you don’t mind. And as I was saying, we’re different, Jonathan. But you now technically work for me, and you have to follow the rules. See, you’re going to be assigned to an ordinary human. Your job will be to haunt, torment, pester, and generally be a total nuisance to your counterpart, until they, y’know… Kick the bucket.” He said, rifling through the filing cabinet. “We may be under construction, but there’s still a quota, so…”

Jonathan stared. “You mean I have to kill people? What if I refuse? You said it was only an offer.” He was starting to very much dislike this Mephiwhatever character.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, of course not! You’re not killing people; you’re just helping people kill themselves. Oh, and, uh, refusing the job suffers you the same sentence as being fired, so I wouldn’t go for that option. Ah HA! Found it.” Mephistopheles pulled out a yellowed folder, labelled ‘ **DEMONARY POSITION #314159** ’.

He floated back down to the desk, pointing lazily at the cabinet draw as he handed the folder to Jonathan. It shut with a loud bang, and he jumped. “Your first assignment is in there. Go on, open it up.”

He did, carefully, expecting some kind of horrible surprise. Instead, all he found was a simple file on a boy apparently called Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski. He looked happy in the photo, electric green eyes alight, beaming as he held up some shining trophy. An endearing-looking mother and father had their arms around him and were grinning, too. What a pleasant cliché, Jonathan thought.

Mepistopheles was looking at him expectantly. “Well? Seems easy enough, right?”

Not wanting to seem rude, he gave a half-hearted shrug. “I guess it’s better than an eternity in Hell.”

“Hey, it’s not normally _that_ bad. Alright, you work five days a week, nine to five, and you get weekends off. You know,” he said, dropping his voice slightly. “ _She_ only gives Sundays off. And I’M the bad guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAND I have writer's block. The third chapter may take slightly longer than this one to upload, so I'm sorry in advance!  
> I know I copied most of the dialogue from the actual film in this chapter, save for a few small changes. I tried to make it all original, but... Ehhh. It was much easier and much more realistic to have a similar, but not identical, situation for Jonathan.  
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading and for the sweet comments and for the kudos and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa <3<3<3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the extremely short and crappy chapter; I have horrendous block with this story already. One of you owes me 10 bucks.

Napoleon was a lot shorter in real life.

Jonathan was at a bus stop in an unfamiliar town, next to his human counterpart. The file had included his daily timetable, including what he had each period at school, so it didn’t take much effort to arrive at the same time as him. For whatever reason, the file hadn’t included his age, but it did have a lot of other detailed information to help with the assignment. Jonathan started feeling queasy; would he really be able to do this? And how, anyway? How do you haunt an extraverted, friendly, straight-A student to suicide?

Jonathan glanced anxiously at Napoleon, who was waiting patiently for the bus. He seemed to notice, and turned to face him. “Hey there! I’m Sock, what’s your name?” He held out a hand, smiling brightly. Jonathan blinked, unsure how to react. What an unusual nickname. “You, uh… can see me?”

He tilted his head to one side. “’Course I can. I mean, it’s not like you’re a ghost.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Sock awkwardly drew his hand back. “Um… I haven’t seen you around much. Do you live here?” He said, trying to keep up the conversation. Unable to answer, Jonathan shifted nervously and stayed silent.

“OK… So you’re not the talkative type.”

The bus arrived, and the two climbed on. Its doors shut, sliding through Jonathan, and he moved away uncomfortably. Sock was sitting up the back, and caught Jonathan’s eye. He raised his eyebrows and patted the seat beside him; refusing would have been rude, so Jonathan had no choice but to sit next to his weird little counterpart.

They sat in silence for a while. Jonathan cleared his throat. “Uh… My name’s Jonathan.” What was he doing? He was supposed to be haunting this kid, not sitting next to him on the bus and talking!

Sock looked a little relieved. “So… Jon?”

“Jonathan.” He mumbled. Sock nodded. “Alright, Jonathan. Cool. Did you move here recently, or…?”

 “Yeah, something like that.” There was something about Sock that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was eerie; he got a similar feeling from Mephistopheles, but that was because he was the Devil, right? Why was this kid so unnerving? On the surface, he seemed perfectly normal; perky, talkative and friendly, there shouldn’t have been anything off-putting about him.

What made the two feel so similar? The question bugged him a lot.

“Hey, kid. Juuust checkin’ up on ya.”

Well, speak of the Devil. Jonathan turned to see Mephistopheles leaning back on the seat opposite them. He waved at Sock, who clearly couldn’t see him and was staring quite intensely at Jonathan. “Hey, Jonathan, why are you so pale?”

He decided to ignore the question, faking a curious glance out the window to make Sock turn around. “What’re you looking at?” Satisfied, Jonathan looked back over to Mepistopheles, who smirked. “Best not to open your mouth, Jonny boy. He can’t hear me, and neither can anyone else.”

Frowning, he muttered “Please don’t call me that. Can anyone else see me? Or hear us?”

“Nope. _He_ can hear you, though; as far as Sock’s concerned, you’re talking to yourself.”

“Wh- No? He’s not even looking this way-“ Jonathan turned back to Sock, who was looking at him with wide eyes. “Who… who were you talking to?” He asked uncertainly. Glancing back and realising that Mephistopheles had disappeared, Jonathan awkwardly muttered “U-uh… Just talking to myself. Reminders, you know. Gotta- um, do the dishes when I get home.”

Sock didn’t look convinced in the slightest, but nodded as if he did nonetheless. The rest of the bus ride was spent in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously hate this chapter, and I'm sorry it seems so rushed!! I've completely lost all the notes I had for this story, so I can't even remember how it will end or what the real plot was.  
> So... I guess it's on hiatus until I recover them!! It's not abandoned, I promise, but I will need time to rethink what's yet to come. For now, the most I'll be doing for Pick Your Poison is experimenting with plot ideas.  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey check it i finally updated  
> a quick recap on Shit That Happened:  
> -USB literally broke and i lost all my data  
> -got diagnosed with some shit and the medication isnt working  
> -SCHOOL. GOD.  
> -my hyperfocus on welcome to hell faded a LOT, hence the slow updates.  
> so, hey, disclaimer: i have ADHD. and uh, cause of it? i dont often finish things i start (unless its a fistfight AYY). so, i'll definitely try my best to continue writing this story! just, bear in mind that im dealing with a lot at the moment, and motivation can be hard to come by sometimes c:

"Jonathan, quit it!" Sock had pulled Jonathan aside, talking to him in a hushed voice. "You're being really mean. What's your deal?"

Jonathan averted his eyes. So far today, he had knocked over a desk, missed Sock's tossed basketball in purpose (he prided himself on that one), disrupted three classes and even caused a blackout in every room Sock walked into. Jonathan thought he was doing a pretty okay job, but he hadn't really considered much else. Frustrated at his silence, Sock grumbled "Everyone keeps ignoring you like crazy, too- even the teachers! So be real with me, okay; what is your deal?"

He still didn't answer, and his counterpart began to guess. "Are- are you unpopular? Are people scared of you? Are you-" His eyes got really wide. "Are you a _delinquent?"_

Jonathan bristled. "No! Dude, I'm not a delinquent. I- I just... Well, I'm... Y'know, uh..." He trailed off. Sock peered at him. "Gay?"

 _Well, yeah, but that's not really the issue._ "Uh... It's not that. Not at all. Definitely not."

_Nice. Real smooth._

Sock blinked twice; had a strange expression on his face. "O-oh." There was an awkward pause, and Jonathan become suddenly fascinated with his shoes. They were a vibrant green, standing out against the grey linoleum. "W-well... What is it, then? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Huh?" Jonathan looked up, and was surprised to see how hurt Sock looked. It made him feel horrible- what was he doing, anyway? Haunting this happy, smart, well-adjusted kid to suicide? _Suicide?_ What had he done to deserve that? What did Sock do to deserve being condemned and sent to Hell? All so Jonathan wouldn't be fired? God, what was he, a coward?

"And why is everyone ignoring you? W-why are you being so- being such- such a mean old bully?" His eyes were rimmed with red, and tears began to gather beneath them. The kid was crying. _Crying._ Crying because of Jonathan. 

He took a deep breath. It was either the truth or a weak lie.

"Sock, I- um, can we maybe talk about this somewhere private?"

Sock began to say yes, but then glared indignantly. "Say it here." He was trying to sound stern and calm, but really sounded like a stubborn little kid, trying to negotiate with his parents. So Jonathan sighed, and kept his voice low. "A-alright. Um. I don't know how to say this, but... It's kind of... my job. To, uh, haunt people. I-I'm a demon," He added quickly, as a way of explanation. Sock stared. He didn't say anything.

"I- well, I died, and I was sent to Hell and given a job offer, and you were my first assignment, so-"

"Stop."

"No, I swear, that's the truth. I, uh, I know you don't believe me- if I was in your place, I sure wouldn't, but-"

"Jonathan, I mean it. Stop." He paused, and Jonathan's voice trailed off. "You- you first act like you're my friend, then you talk to someone that isn't there, and then you bully me and try to pass it all off with some- some crazy story that sounds like it's taken right out of  _Supernatural?_  Jonathan, I just want the real reason! Why can't you tell me?"

He wanted to say that he had tried to tell him, and that he could prove it, prove it all, and that he had decided to quit the job instead of haunt him, but Sock had already begun to walk away, and something in his unbeating heart sink low into his bright green shoes. They still stood out against the bland, grey ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! sorry for the short chapter- like i said, i lost all my data. this is all i had left of this chapter...  
> leave a comment, if you like! i always appreciate constructive criticism!!  
> tumblr: mvpmercy

**Author's Note:**

> questions? comments? requests? hmu on my writing blog: dhillarearenn !


End file.
